


Almost

by voculae (northernMagic)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4396571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernMagic/pseuds/voculae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Bond wants to kiss Q.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god it's not a drabble

The warmth of the day still lingers from the sand, while cooler sea breezes flit around where Bond lounges. At hand is a drink so cold that his fingers briefly stick to the glass, like a hard kiss. (He’s had worse.)

Never mind what he said before. This is the life: sun, sea, sand...and in his ear, Q muttering as he works.

All Bond is missing is a willowy body tucked against him, a warm head on his shoulder. Someone who would demand nothing more than his company. Perhaps they would curl up on him and read a book, or tap on a tablet and use him for shade. Maybe when Bond looks down, he would nuzzle wild dark hair, glimpse grey-green eyes over the top of thick-framed glasses, eyes that flutter shut when Bond presses a kiss to his forehead...

Ice cold drops land on his chest: the condensation from his drink jolts him from his fantasy. He blinks away the images, ignoring the bone-deep ache over his racing heart as he brushes the water off his chest. His earpiece crackles.

“Bond? Alright?” asks Q mildly.

“I’m alright, Q,” Bond replies. “Just startled.”

“Oh? Did your chair finally collapse under last night’s dinner?” Q’s sharp-edged relief is transparent, despite his attempts to hide it, or maybe Bond just pays attention. Bond indulges Q’s banter while he returns to his hotel, as usual, but he feels the chilly pain of yearning settle in his chest and bleed into his words like an infection. Bond knows he is more reserved than usual when he signs off for the night.

* * *

When Bond sleeps on the sofa in the Quartermaster’s (tiny) office, he does not dream. A soft alarm goes off, or the phone rings, or Q forgets himself and curses, and they snatch Bond from falling into the depths of his nightmares. He naps there often.

This time Bond’s woken by a breath of warm air, abruptly triggering his instincts. Q barely pulls back in time as Bond springs upright and freezes.

“Jesus, Q,” he says, relaxing back into his nest of a soft cardigan and a cologne infused suit jacket. Q settles primly back in his chair.

“Alright, Bond?” Q replies mildly, as though he hadn’t been watching Bond sleep. He adds at Bond’s look, “I thought it was the most efficient way of waking you up.”

Bond groans and rubs at his face, a little more dramatically than necessary.

“Anyway,” Q continues in the crisp voice he uses on the comms. “M is coming down imminently. Thought you might want to know.” He raises his eyebrows at Bond, then abruptly spins back to his desk.

Bond clasps a hand to Q’s shoulder and limps out as quickly as possible.

* * *

 Alas, the freight elevators were occupied. M intercepts Bond on the emergency staircase. 

“Ah, Bond. Perfect timing. I’m on my way to see Q; why don’t you come along?” It isn’t a suggestion. Bond stoically turns around and follows M back down to the office. M is even feeling considerate today; no amount of lagging or dragging his leg can shake the canny director off.

When they appear at the open door, Q stands up and greets M. “And Double-oh-seven too?” he adds. He looks down and fiddles with some paper on his desk before peeking up over his glasses at Bond. “How unexpected.”

Bond sighs silently. He can see M perk up at Q’s tell and restrain himself.

“Right,” says M cheerily. “Q, I have something for you. Also, I found Bond on my way here and thought you could make some use of him.”

“I’ll try,” Q replies, uncharacteristically demure.

“It’s not flashy nor exciting, I’m afraid.” M outlines something technical that has Q looking rather pinched. “What do you think?”

“I’ll need to outsource some of the analysis. It may take a month just to set up testing.”

“We might be waiting months, or it may be next week. Whatever you can give us before then, Q. It will be appreciated.”

M leaves as abruptly as he arrived. Q takes off his glasses and tosses them on his desk.

“Alright, Q?” says Bond.

Q stands and worries pensively at his thumb, staring at nothing. He eventually surfaces to say,

“I’m going to need your help, but you must listen to me.”

“All ears, Q.”

“I need you to get the earpiece and radio I know you still have. We’re going on a small backyard adventure.”

After the necessary preparations, one of which involved a tame ferret, Bond follows Q into the depths of hell. Or rather, the tunnels around what must be the boiler rooms; the air is thick with humidity and electric humming, and Q has stripped down to his dress-shirt, sleeves rolled up.

Q stops in front of a rather poorly lit maintenance hatch. The jingle of his keys are loud, cutting through the low thrumming coming through the walls.

“Right,” he says, and his voice echoes through Bond’s earpiece. “You can hear me? Good. This is my stop.” Bond eyes the hatch dubiously. It looks just small enough to fit a fairy child. “Better me than you,” Q adds.

“After you.”

All in all, it’s a relatively bland (if dusty) procedure. Their push and pull is well oiled by now. When Bond reaches the halfway station, the timing of his switch throwing and whatever the hell Q is doing in the hatch is precise. Bond fancies that he can feel the clicks of imaginary gates moving into place, electrons being smoothly redirected under Q’s steady hand.

“Light as well as electrons, actually,” says Q. “Some of this is fiber optic. Done here.”

Bond strides to their meeting point, which turns out to be a small alcove that should have been a broom closet. He can hear chatter from a distance, and traffic noise: he must be near the tunnel entrance. The wall before him is rough, but bears no door nor opening. He looks up and sees a grating. He spares a moment to amble out and chat with the guards while Q huffs in his ear. He returns just as the grating rattles and swings loose.

“Ah,” says Q. “You could have said something.”

Bond wordlessly opens his arms.

“I don’t like flying,” says Q.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” says Bond. The chattering draws nearer.

“Fuck you,” Q replies, and then, “aaagghhh!” as he twitches, finds himself in mid-air, and drops on top of Bond.

Following is a long confused moment, wherein Bond tries to contain Q’s flailing. This is followed by another long moment, during which neither of them move nor breathe.

There is a clatter behind Q, and an angry whirring noise. His eyes widen.

“Oh shit,” says Q, just as the guards poke their heads in.

* * *

“Bo— Double-oh-seven, please pay attention." 

Intrigued by Q’s slip of tongue, Bond put down the mystery object and ambled over. “You have my attention, Q,” he purred.

The scathing look he got in return was one that this young Q reserved just for him. Q didn’t look quite annoyed, nor resigned, as Moneypenny did when she didn’t have the time to entertain him. However, Q still looked down his nose and huffed as though Bond were the vexing young man.

That nose was perfectly sized to brush a kiss on, after which Q would probably wrinkle it, as though—

“I really don’t.”

“It’s a brilliant imaging system, Q,” Bond replies, scrambling to recover from his distraction.

“How did you— never mind that. If you already know what I’m preparing for you next week, why are you even here?”

Just then, Moneypenny sails into the department un-escorted. Bond looks almost betrayed, and finds no shame in ducking down behind Q.

Q picks up his mug and hisses around it with some admiration, “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! There was a misunderstanding,” Bond mutters, He freezes. “Q,” he says, in his I-just-realized-I-may-have-sort-of-fucked-up voice.

“Right,” says Q, as Moneypenny is waylaid by a brave minion. He looks back at Bond and tilts his head, a smile at the corners of his mouth. “How big of an explosion do you need?”

Bond swallows. “Q, I’m going to need something we might regret later.”

“Nice of you to warn me.”

Bond stands up, puts his hand on Q’s back, and leans close. “May I kiss you?” he whispers into Q’s ear. Q shivers, his hair tickling Bond’s nose. Q turns his full attention onto Bond, and Bond is caught. Hypnotized, marveling. Q looks as surprised as Bond, to be breathing the same warm air. Bond’s instincts bind him still as Q’s eyes flicker to Bond’s mouth.

Q sways in for a taste of Bond. Again, deeper, and again. He is so sweet, that clever mouth. Bond smooths his hand on Q’s back and nudges Q’s glasses with his nose, humming. Q huffs and leans back enough to toss his glasses on the desk.

Then Bond realizes the only thing he can hear is the low hum of computers, and Q’s heavy breathing. They looked cautiously out at their audience, who stare back. The room erupts in applause and whistles, and Q hides his face in Bond’s neck.

 

“They’ve been waiting for me to do that for a while,” Q says later, sympathetically.

“Yes, and then Moneypenny got involved." 

“Also, you still owe me a new shirt.”

* * *

Bond is on a spare tablet, in fact the one he managed to bring back in one piece. His reward is a virtual game of Scrabble— a precious hour with his quartermaster, who is away at a technical conference. With Q attending under a false name and having little secure airtime, they haven’t been able to talk much apart from this.

 _New game?_ messages Q.

 _You start,_ Bond laboriously taps out on screen. (The accessory keyboard no longer works.)

 _House rules,_ he messages back. _No Es_. An I appears in the middle of the screen.

Bond considers, and selects ‘WISH’. Almost immediately, ‘WANT’ branches off the word.

 _‘I want’?_ Bond is suddenly alert; what if Q needs to send a message? There are few choices on Bond’s tray, which cements his suspicion that Q has set up the game.

‘TO’

There is a pause, and Bond’s nerves become taut as he stares at the screen, willing…

 _Never mind,_ types Q. He clears the board. _Five minutes._ New game?

? Bond responds, ready to jump into the nearest helicopter, secure site be damned.

Q, pleads Bond. He checks his tray, but is frustrated.

_ok? You_

_fine,_ Q replies.

_Fine_

_I’m fine._

Bond sighs as the board returns to where they left off.

 _This is so stupid,_ says Q. His play appears on-screen.

‘KISS’

Bond is tempted to steal a helicopter anyway.

_Yes please._

**Author's Note:**

> I need more mindless fluff, so I took forever to write the fluff I want to see in the world. This is one of the longest things I've ever written ever that is not in my thesis. I thought someone might as well appreciate it.
> 
> Feel free to remix this or any of my other works (with attribution) and drop a link back to me (voculae on tumblr).


End file.
